Page 41 of Roommate Wars
I jogged down the stairs of the Victorian and stepped onto the sidewalk. The sidewalks in this part of Russian Hill were steep, so it was either a hike uphill one way or a shuffle downhill the other. But before I could scramble down to my car on the lower end of the block, a movement caught my attention from across the street. My eyebrows rose.
A man was passionately kissing April, the attractive fifty-something wife of a bank executive, in the shadow of her Edwardian row house. And he wasn’t her husband.
But the potential infidelity wasn’t what had my hackles rising.
I didn’t know April or her husband that well. Maybe they were taking a break. He wasn’t around nearly as often as April, coming and going in her yoga gear from their four-story home. I could be wrong about the cheating scenario. My blood was boiling for another reason. Because the ass April was gripping belonged to the deliveryman Elise had plans with tonight. He was even wearing the Luscious Stems polo shirt.
“Motherfucker.” I stormed up the stairs and into the apartment to Elise’s bedroom door, where I knocked a little too hard, feeling my heart pounding from running up three flights. There was no way I’d let Elise date this guy. He was trash.
Only she didn’t answer.
I pulled out my phone and hitcallon her contact.
Straight to voicemail. And what was worse? I could hear her phone ringing in her bedroom. “Elise?”
I knocked twice, and when she didn’t answer, I opened the door.
This was the first time I’d stepped inside the second bedroom since Elise had moved in. Her bed was made, and other than a few pieces of clothing neatly draped over the back of a chair, the room was clean and tidy. The bathroom, on the other hand, was another thing.
Elise’s bathroom door hung open, and cosmetics were strewn across the counter. And there was her phone. She must have forgotten it when she went out.
I wouldn’t be home until later. What if she went out with this guy before I could reach her?
She’d likely return for her phone before going on the date. I left her a message to call me. There was still time to let her know what I’d discovered.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into my reserved parking spot in Japantown a block from my dad’s place, with still no word from Elise. She hadn’t answered my text message or returned my call. Most people had their phones attached to them, but not Elise. She was the only human on the planet who could go without it.
I headed up to my dad’s apartment. He owned a two-bedroom, one-bath unit he’d bought with my mom thirty years ago. It was in the heart of this part of the city, and the usual suspects were about: people getting in late afternoon grocery runs at the Friendly Liquor & Market, a new Indian restaurant with a line out the door, and a group of teenagers heading to the movie theater that sprouted up when I was their age.
This part of San Francisco was active without the crazy bustle of Broadway or Lombard. It had been enough activity to keep me entertained when I looked out my bedroom window as a kid, minus the noise to keep me up all night. And yet I’d been begging my dad for years to let me buy him something new.
I wouldn’t mind holding on to this place if he moved somewhere I could keep a closer eye on him. I was thinking a building where we could both live that had accessibility features for when he got older. He wasn’t geriatric, but there’d come a day when he was, and seeing him sick these last several months had me stressing about the future.
I unlocked the door and let myself in. “Dad?”
“In the mancave,” he called.
A few years ago, my dad had converted my bedroom into a room with a couch and TV. Not a big couch and not a big TV, since the room was small, but it had been a luxury for him.
I unloaded a few groceries he liked that I’d picked up on my way here, then headed toward the back of the house.
“Have a seat,” he said and patted the cushion beside him, his attention on the TV. “The shit’s about to hit the fan.”
The couch was a cross between blue and gray, and overly firm. Then again, Max and the ten grand he’d dropped on the seemingly small, simple one in my apartment had spoiled me in that department.
This was how they got you. You fly coach all your life, but once you travel first class, you’re hooked. Anything less feels like torture. But I was determined to remember my roots. Not as though I could easily forget them. My dad clung to this apartment like it was his lifeline.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. “Still up for Italian?” Our favorite Italian hole-in-the-wall was just down the street. They made the best pasta sauce, and if I could bottle it, I’d make a fortune. But the owner refused to give up the recipe. It was that kind of place—super old-school and proud. I made do with delivery once a week instead. Though I hadn’t ordered from them since Elise moved in. Had to make her work for her living, after all.
“Whoa!” my dad said and laughed at the people on the screen.
A woman in a bright pink summer dress had just slapped someone I assumed was her fiancé.
“I knew that was coming.” My dad shook his head. “Complete dummy, that one. Didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”
“Dad, aren’t all these shows predictable? The people are forced into close proximity and break up.”
Come to think of it, not much different from my forced situation with Elise.
